


Broken Wings

by KatelynnKittaly, NightysWolf



Series: Wish Upon a Wing and a Star [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Canon Compliant, Gen, Injury, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatelynnKittaly/pseuds/KatelynnKittaly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightysWolf/pseuds/NightysWolf
Summary: It was no secret to the other three that every evening, when the feeble light he thought he might be able to register behind his eyelids retreated, Ignis would slip out the door to their suite and slowly shuffle his way along the devastated streets of Altissia.Created in conjunction with a render byNightyswolf.





	Broken Wings

It was no secret to the other three that every evening, when the feeble light he thought he might be able to register behind his eyelids retreated, Ignis would slip out the door to their suite and slowly shuffle his way along the devastated streets of Altissia. Darkness followed him from the room out onto the cracked and broken walkways on these bleak nights, seemingly in defiance of the amber streetlamps he could still hear buzzing over his head. Doubtless they were still casting their romantic glow across crumbling buildings and crashed Magitek engines strewn broken across his path, and a small part of him was glad he couldn’t see the destruction he’d had a hand in creating.

Never had Ignis been more grateful for his eidetic memory as he gingerly eased himself onto the concrete barrier surrounding the art installation of the Tidemother, careful not to jostle his cracked ribs any more than necessary. Perhaps his suffering was his own fault for taking the most circuitous route to this place, but regardless of what the future lay in store for him, there was nothing better for learning to work around his new limitations and easing the pains stabbing at his scars than a long, meandering trek. The action somehow seemed to give him a purpose—something he was disgusted to admit he’d been floundering for these past three weeks.

Just as it had been the last time he’d visited, the square was deserted. Now that he’d settled, not a single footstep clicked across the rough stones, not a single ringing laugh or wail of lament broke the still night.

Yet what he had once thought to be silence was anything but. In the absence of visual stimulus, he could more clearly focus on the shallow water in the pool behind him lapping at the wall he was currently slumped on, the rush of the whitewater cascade on the other side of the gondola station behind him, the gentle breeze setting what sounded like a broken door to groaning rhythmically on rusted hinges—bringing starkly to the forefront of his memory that he should have been hearing the creaking moans of the massive water wheel to his left, but it must have been damaged in the battle. The wet, salty air filled his nostrils with the scent of fish and open sea, stale standing water and bitter smoke from the battle that had ravaged the charming town and left it feeling violated.

At the thought of so _much_ happening around him of which he was unaware, Ignis swallowed the sensations suddenly threatening to overwhelm him and retreated deeper into himself. Really, he was being ridiculous. The very reason he’d made this arduous journey out here in spite of the others’ concern was to escape the suffocating silence in the hotel room, was it not?

That suffocating silence was merely one of the manifestations of his _wish_—granted not by a benevolent deity but delivered by his own hand and the immolation of his flesh. Prompto, for all his well-intentioned assistance, had to be pried from Ignis’s side on an hourly basis just so he could get the space to take a breath on his own. Gladio wasn’t saying much, but just because Ignis could no longer see the storm brewing in his eyes didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it. He was angry—angry at Ignis for having made such a rash decision that had crippled them all, angry at Noct for his petulance, and angry at himself for allowing Ignis to take the mantle of the Shield when he hadn’t been there to do so himself.

And Noct. The object of his sacrifice still refused to even so much as acknowledge his presence after Ignis had so foolishly succumbed to a moment of weakness and suggested they end their journey.

He’d been fire and brimstone in those few minutes of feeling the power of a god sear through his veins, but now that he’d sipped from that chalice and been dumped upon this mortal world once more, all he could find within himself was helpless bitterness. Where was that inner voice he’d depended on for so long? The answering silence as the question reverberated in the dark chasm of his mind concerned him.

And yet Ignis was the sort of man who didn’t do regrets. He’d made his choice there on that altar, and he would stand by it, unyielding in his resolve . . . until the very end. After all, they’d all vowed to never look back the day Insomnia had fallen and they’d lost everything—why should he start now? For all that he hoped that he would be spared his fate, he knew from personal experience the merciless judgment of the divine. He’d known the moment he’d awoken that this was the price he’d paid for the power, and there would be no reprieve, no matter how much he tried to convince the others it would only be a matter of time before he recovered.

What he couldn’t abide by was how his actions had affected their behavior since he’d awoken. Their lack of faith that he could overcome this challenge undermined his fragile hope that in every moment seemed to rest on the very edge of a razor-sharp blade. With the slightest provocation, that hope could fall to either side—would he prevail or not? Should he stay behind, or should he continue on? He would not countenance becoming a liability and getting them all killed. He would rather die here and now than see that possible future come to fruition. And yet, could he ever live with himself having given up?

Honestly, he’d expected to die the moment he’d put that ring on his finger, but given the chance to reflect on matters some, Ignis decided that his current condition was the better of the two options. He still had some measure of control over events, which he couldn’t have wielded from beyond the grave. There was still the gossamer-thin hope that he could avert Noct’s fate before he reached the age he’d been in Ignis’s vision, and Ignis wouldn’t ever have to tell him that there was no hope. He’d already vowed he would _never_ yield, never stop fighting, but what form would his struggle take now?

Ignis leaned further forward to place his elbows on his knees. Ducking his head, he allowed himself this one, self-indulgent moment alone to release his bitter tears for the past and the decisions that lay before him, burning his half-healed corneas and the hot scar beneath his eye as they fell free from what was left of his lower lashes.


End file.
